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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23159923">A Rock and a Hard Place</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/1funn/pseuds/1funn'>1funn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons &amp; Dragons (Roleplaying Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dungeons &amp; Dragons Character Backstory, Fist Fights, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Near Death Experiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:07:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,016</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23159923</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/1funn/pseuds/1funn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Origin story for my drow cowboy warlock, who has a drinking problem and bad taste in men.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Setting belongs to my DM, Kroot</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cash Diamond is 25 years old, but the sun has beaten this information out of her.</p><p>Dust is rising from beneath her boots with every labored step, and presently she doesn’t remember the taste of water, or shade, or decent company. It’s been the better half of a week, she assumes, since she crawled out from beneath the earth. Or, perhaps it’s been longer than that.</p><p>In her wake she leaves mismatched footprints and the din of shrill laughter. It comes and goes, ranging from subtle whispers in the desert wind to a gnashing howl that drowns out the sound of what few thoughts she has left. She can feel hot breath on her neck, fur rustling against her ankles, the pressure of an invisible body weighing on her shoulders, but he doesn’t show himself to her.</p><p>
  <em> Keep walkin’, Cash, you just gotta walk it off. </em>
</p><p>Cash thinks she sees a town in the distance; a blocky silhouette of shapes is clustered tightly at the end of a unpaved road.  She blinks, and finds herself standing three hundred feet away with her boots planted firmly in the liminal divide where wilderness ends and civilization begins. An unnaturally warm breeze rushes from behind her, it presses her to continue walking.</p><p>There are people around her, coming and going, pushing crates and pulling ropes and shouting amongst one another. She feels she hasn’t heard another voice in such a long time. Words hit her ears, but feel foreign. She doesn’t know how she got here so fast.</p><p>Cash wets her lower lip when her eyes cast upward to a grimy wooden sign – <em> The Olde Queen Inn </em>. It wines on its aged hinges. She is suddenly overwhelmed with the painful sensation of thirst. She stumbles onward.</p><p>The building itself is like any other this side of Balgush – small, wooden, covered in a layer of orange dust. It’s nestled in a little row, tucked between a boot shop and barber’s. She finds that she hesitates when she makes it to the edge of the Inn’s small deck. Cash props herself against a thick support beam and begins coughing up a bit of dirt.</p><p>A voice pierces through her fogged brain, and she looks up to meet it.</p><p>“Cash?”</p><p>She’s staring, and it’s something she <em> does </em> remember – those orange eyes.</p><p>“Eb,” her voice cracks, it’s barely audible. Cash realizes she can’t remember the last time she spoke out loud.</p><p>Ebcion Vlint, who looks every bit as handsome and exhausting as she’s accustomed to, is rushing towards her. He’s reaching out unceremoniously, hands on her sides and face, looking her over as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. He kisses her twice. As he is looking her over, he talks frantically, but Cash only hears the sound of blood pumping in her ears.</p><p>She’s glad to see him, but she can’t remember why.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“You look like shit. Cash?”</p><p>Cash Diamond is on her third glass of whiskey and her second cigarette.</p><p>She’s staring at the man sitting across from her, his brow knit with a deep-set concern that looks just awful on him. Other than that, he looks almost the same – same bright red skin, same twin horns curling above his head like a bent crown. His hair is longer now, though, which Cash feels should puzzle her, but she doesn’t have the energy to think about it. She switches to focus on her drink, snuffing the cigarette into the glass ashtray.</p><p>A curling river of smoke dances above the ashtray before fading into nothing.</p><p>Ebcion frowns at her silence, he tilts his head in the way he used to when she was being coy with him.</p><p>“Where you been, Cash?” he sounds exhausted.</p><p>Cash shrugs, her foggy brain beginning to feel the familiar cushion of the whiskey. He’s not having that, and gives Cash a probing stare. She buckles, as usual.</p><p>“I jus…y’know. Workin’ through some stuff.” She mumbles noncommittally. Cash thinks of the past week as best she can. It’s mostly a blur of orange, the feeling of her skin drying out beneath the white sun, bleaching her scalp. Laughter.</p><p>She thinks back to the pressure of dirt and rocks against her chest, and can’t help but look down at her nail beds. Dry, red – the dirt from beneath the dirt still wedged in the crevices. She shudders and shakes her head sharply as if to repatriate the memory back to where it came from.</p><p>“Are you—are you being serious? Cash, we all thought you were <em> dead </em>.” Ebcion sounds more exhausted than angry, which only serves to make her feel worse. He’s looking at her like she’s going to vanish before his very eyes. She wishes she could, to avoid his harrowed expression.</p><p>Cash shrugs. “I’s gonna come back.” </p><p>Ebcion is taken back, eyebrows raised and mouth agape. He’s offended.</p><p>“Cash, it’s been <em> three months. </em> Just <em> when </em>were you planning on coming back?”</p><p>Now Cash is taken back.</p><p>“Three months? No, that ain’t...right...”</p><p>Cash gawks at him, disbelieving. Ebcion’s expression falls back to concern, and he holds up his hand to stop the barmaid from returning to drop off another round. The server scuttles off, and despite wanting another drink, Cash is still processing and unable to protest.</p><p>She looks embarrassed and rubs her eyes, white sparks sway in her vision. She is hard pressed to fill in those gaps. Has it really been three months? No, she was just there  -- the mine. That couldn’t have been more than a week ago. She was <em> just </em>there.</p><p>“Sorry, Eb, I ain’t reali…sorry.”</p><p>“Cash, we had a service for everyone they couldn’t find... Your sister rode in for it.”</p><p>Cash’s face goes pale.</p><p>“Service…” she mumbles, as if she is unsure of what the word means. Ecbion chooses to study her bewilderment in silence, Cash can only hear the sound of laughter that threatens to steal that silence – <em> no, it’s not the same. </em>She catches a group of strangers gathered in the corner booth, cutting up and flirting with the barmaid, laughing. In the other corner, two men are arguing about a game of Blackjack. She hears a horse exhaling sharply just outside as its owner ties it to the post, and the carving sounds of it digging its hooves into the earth.</p><p>Ebcion snaps his fingers in front of her, pulling her attention back instantly.</p><p>“Hey, stay with me, Kyshmet.” He says, arresting her gaze with his as he scrutinizes her intensely. “Yeah, service – she came down from the academy. Brought flowers for you. And, you know, your Pa…”</p><p>Ebcion recoils from his words when he sees the expression on Cash’s face shift. She is pulled back into that dark place again, as if the hands of the dead had clawed their way to the surface and were grabbing at her. She feels pressure on her lungs, and cold, crooked fingers biting into her ankles as they pull her down. She tastes dirt, smells it – it’s everywhere now. Enveloping her. Holding her down. Cash can’t see anything but black, can’t feel anything but rocks and earth forcing their way into her throat, in her nostrils, in her eyes…</p><p>
  <em> Gonna die. I’m gonna die. Oh, I don’t want to die…I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe, why is it so dark? I’m scared. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fu-- </em>
</p><p>She suddenly sees, clear as day, those hands. They belong to her father. Twitching, clawing, pulling – then, nothing. They stop moving.</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Cash realizes the pressure she now feels is Ebcion’s hand on hers. She’s trembling. </p><p>“Yeah. I was there. I know.” She says, her voice calm as a dead man’s.</p><p>An uncomfortable silence hangs between them.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Ebcion says quietly, almost inaudibly. Cash hears snickering under his voice. She doesn’t look up, because she is afraid of what she might see.</p><p>“Eb, why are you here?” she says. She realizes after she’s said it that it <em> is </em> indeed strange. She’s not in her right mind, but she knows she’s never seen this town. She’s not even sure where the hell they are. Ebcion isn’t as much of a worldly man as he likes to pretend, and she knows that better than anyone.</p><p>Ebcion pulls his hand back and deflates in his chair. His concern melts into disdain.</p><p>“Uh, well, I’ve been here ‘bout a month now.” he says, gesturing around the Inn vaguely. “<em> The Queen </em> is an old investment of my father’s. It’s just been sittin’ here, rotting in this one-horse town for years. Only pulls enough profit to keep it afloat.” he laments, not bothering to filter the contempt in his voice. He hasn’t changed.</p><p>Cash tries to force a smile, but she finds it hard to be comforted by his familiarity. She eyes her empty glass, wishing she had another to curb the pounding that has begun its steady return. She wonders if the barmaid will come back soon, or if she should try to flag her down.</p><p>“Yeah?” she asks, letting her eyes travel again across the bar patrons. She catches no dark shadows, no flickering of gold or glances of twisted whiskers in her peripherals. Just a beat-up old watering hole peppered with a handful of local drunks.</p><p>“Yeah.” he replies. Ebcion tilts his glass, holding it precariously between his long fingers and rolling it so the liquid inside swirls like a miniature whirlpool. Cash wonders if he’s going to finish it. “Anyway, he stuck me here after the Shaft Four incident. Can’t have me around while tryin’ to fix my fuckups, I guess.” he mutters.</p><p>Cash frowns. “Don’t beat yourself up,”</p><p><em> Hehehehe </em>.</p><p>Ebcion gives her a curt nod and takes a swift drink. Cash watches his throat bob as the liquid slides down. He sets the glass down with a clink and exhales sharply, his words are bolstered by the whiskey. “Old man is such a pain in my ass. I told him I would take care of it. He’s sorting through negotiations with insurance still, it’s been a real nightmare.”</p><p>“Uh huh.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t believe the hoops I had to jump through. I’m still so irritated at fucking Dancey,” he says. Cash isn’t sure what he’s talking about. She finds herself struggling to listen. The pounding is now punctuated with small, crackling laughter that stabs at her eardrums. She feels a strong urge to bang her head on the table to silence it.</p><p>Ebcion seems to chew something over in his mind a long moment, his head bowed. He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales deeply, and pulls back to meet her gaze. </p><p>His eyes are like sunsets. They’re beautiful. </p><p>Cash thinks back to when they were kids and sneaking out after dark to skinny dip at Dyer’s Creek. Or, the two stealing eggs from Rendyl Harper’s hen house every summer. Breaking into the Shaft Two, which had been closed off long before either of them had been born, just to mess around or smoke Vlint Senior’s fancy Gellentide Cigars. </p><p>She remembers lying to her father to cover for him when Ebcion broke their front porch window. She remembers Ebcion staying up all night with her at his place when she was too chicken shit to go home and admit she’d broken the other one not but three days later.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Cash.” he says again, this time there’s a different weight to his words. She looks at him, bemused. His voice slices through her fog and draws her to him. It’s just the two of them again, and she feels a sudden heat on her skin. The background noise that has piggybacked behind her ears since the cave in seems to have left. Everything’s vacant --it’s just the two of them, and it’s comforting.</p><p>Ebcion’s voice is discreet, and his words are spoken precariously.</p><p>“You know, Dancey said it would have just been the Shaft Five. The old one, you know? No one uses it. No one was supposed to be back there.”</p><p>Cash tilts her head, not understanding.</p><p>Ebcion doesn’t seem to gather she’s not following, and simply continues. He’s holding her hand gently, rubbing his thumb against her pulse. He used to do the same thing whenever he was apologizing to her after another fight about nothing, back when they were stupid teenagers.</p><p>“You shouldn’t have been working that day. I didn’t know you’d switched shifts. I didn’t know. No one was supposed to get hurt. Especially not you.”</p><p>There’s a long pause as the words digest.</p><p>Suddenly, something clicks in Cash’s mind. It’s as if the earth is parting above her, and the light from the morning pierces through. She’s thinking clearly now, for the first time in ages. Words like <em> supposed to, insurance, Dancey said </em>... </p><p>A low, rolling din begins to permeate the atmosphere. It’s her blood pumping from her chest.</p><p>The whole room is silent.</p><p>“What did you say?” she asks, what color left on her face is darkening.</p><p>Ebcion doesn’t seem to realize the mistake he’s made until he catches her eyes.</p><p>He’s never seen that expression on her face before. The blood leaves his face, and he breaks out into a nervous sweat.</p><p>“Wh...no, you’re not understanding me --”</p><p>
  <em> Hehehehehehehehehehehhehehehehehehehehe... </em>
</p><p>Cash Diamond is on top of Ebcion Vlint, on the dirty wooden floor of <em> The Olde Queen Inn </em>. </p><p>She’s breathing heavily, straddling him to pin his hips with the bulk of her weight. She can taste blood and dirt in her mouth, and she sees her fist is soaked in red. She’s dazed, not sure how she ended up on the floor, but that isn’t stopping her. She brings her fist down again. Again. Again. Again.</p><p>Cash beats  him with every ounce of energy she doesn’t have. One hand fiercely grips the lapel of his jacket, the other wails into him like an erratic piston. Again. Again. Ebcion’s nose is surely broken, and Cash feels the sharp, cracked edge of a tooth sticking out of her knuckle. </p><p>
  <em> His fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fucking fault! </em>
</p><p>“Get her off him! God, someone get the sheriff--”</p><p><em> His fucking fault! I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking </em> <b> <em>kill </em> </b> <em> him. Everyone’s dead, it’s his </em> <b> <em>fucking </em> </b> <em> fault! </em></p><p>“Grab her goddamn shoulders!”</p><p><em> Go on, kill him! </em> Laughter. Cash can taste metal on her tongue. <em> It’ll make you feel so much better! </em></p><p>“Ma’am, you need to <em> leave </em>.”</p><p>Cash is forcefully yanked off her perch. There’s shouting and scuffling bouncing all around her; she feels something cold and hard jammed up against her shoulder blade. It’s a pistol.</p><p>There’s a drow man she’s never seen before holding her back by her wrist and neck. His grip is strong, and she knows he’ll shoot her if she pulls away. Her pulse races frantically under his fingers. </p><p>The crowd gathered around them stare as another man pulls Ebcion to his feet. He’s clutching his busted nose, and cherry red blood runs from between his fingers and down his throat. It blends almost seamlessly with his skin, and stains his hand-embroidered vest. He’s got a look of fear and anger pulling at his features.</p><p>“<em> You crazy bitch! </em> ” he sputters, aghast. “What the <em> hell </em> is <em> wrong </em>with you!?”</p><p>His reaction only causes her rage to boil over. She nearly lunges at him again, forgetting the pistol at her back. The drow man is immediately assisted by two more strangers, they grab at her shoulders and jerk her back forcefully. She thrashes like a starved wild animal.</p><p>This seems to startle Ebcion more than the initial assault. He recoils, staring at her like a wounded dog that doesn’t completely understand what misdeeds it has committed. His face pales when he meets her eyes. They’re dark, and full of hatred, and he knows she really would have killed him had no one intervened. The gravity of the situation finally sinks in completely, and he realizes there’s no recovering from what he’s said.</p><p>She falls still in her detainer’s grip, and there’s a brief moment where no one in the room even breathes. Cash is staring at him, staring <em> through </em>him.</p><p>Ebcion straightens his shoulders and adjusts his collar. His nose is crooked now, and the trim hair on his face is entirely coated in ugly red. He schools his expression and attempts to reason with her.</p><p>“...Cashe’lie, I--”</p><p>“<em> I’ll fucking </em> <b> <em>kill </em> </b> <em> you. You goddamn fucking </em> <b> <em>devil</em> </b> <em> . I’ll kill you and your whole </em> <b> <em>goddamn </em> </b> <em> devil family </em>.”</p><p>Ebcion stiffens and swallows his words, startled into silence.</p><p>The men holding her back are talking to him now, and Ebcion’s saying something to the drow holding a pistol to Cash’s shoulder blade. She can’t hear anyone, the blood pumping in her ears howls at her to break free, grab him, <em> hurt </em>him. She’s bitten into her own tongue, and her vision is tunneled. She sees nothing but red. </p><p>Cash Diamond doesn’t feel herself being forcefully hoisted from the establishment by three men, nor does she register that she’s been dragged out of town and dumped a few feet from a gong pit until she sees the cloud of orange dust rising around her. She’s been kicked in the gut. She doesn’t bother moving from where she’s been put. She stares at the cloudless sky above, and watches the inky black outlines of the birds that circle overhead.</p><p>Dust. All this fucking dust. Cash feels it coating her lungs, and she’s overcome with numbness.</p><p>“I’ll kill him…”</p><p>
  <em> Yeah, yeah, kiddo. I know. </em>
</p><p>“I...I’ll…”</p><p>Everything’s just red now.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Cash Diamond doesn’t know what day of the week it is.</p><p>She’s at a bar, on the other side of the country. She doesn’t remember when she got here, or how long it took to get here. She doesn’t even remember getting up off the ground and stumbling back into the wilderness. She’s got a large brown bottle in her hand. She’s seething.</p><p>She drinks.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Cash Diamond doesn’t know what month it is.</p><p>She’s at a bar, in a town she’s never heard of, on her sixth shot of firewater. No, seventh. She’s laughing boisterously, her arms are around a woman she’s never met before. She’s just told Cash a clever joke about snakes. Cash can’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard.</p><p>She drinks.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Cash Diamond is pretty sure she’s been away from home for about a year. Maybe two.</p><p>She’s at a bar, in a backwater city known for vanishing folks that ask too many questions. She’s counting money with an orc woman, and there’s a man tied up in the back. They have a laugh, but Cash feels like she’s forgetting something important.</p><p>She pockets the money, and drinks.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Cash Diamond isn’t sure where she is.</p><p>She’s on the ground, outside a tavern. There’s loud noises coming from inside -- shouting, laughing, smashing glass. The sky above her is devoid of stars, and she’s tucked between a pile of rubbish and a stack of empty ale barrels.</p><p>She’s shit-faced and can barely sit up straight. It’s quiet.</p><p>The noise from inside, she doesn’t mind that -- that doesn’t count. That’s not <em> real </em> noise. It’s <em> truly </em>quiet. She hasn’t heard that laughter in a very long time. She’s found whiskey headaches keep him at bay. </p><p>Cash rubs her eyes idly with her filthy riding gloves, and discovers that they’re wet. She’s sad again, but she can’t really remember why. She sighs and fumbles for a cigarette from the inner breast pocket of her bulky camel duster.</p><p>She’s got one left. She pops it into her mouth.</p><p>Cash lazily begins to pat down her coat for her lighter. It’s not where it usually is. She does this for a few moments before remembering she gave it away to a handsome human fella she’d met the other night. He had ended up being a waste of time, and now she was out her only lighter.</p><p>She slurs out a curse under her oversaturated breath. The cigarette droops dejectedly between her lips, unlit.</p><p>There’s a faint whistle on the wind.</p><p>
  <em> “Well, ain’t this just a real sorry sight.” </em>
</p><p>Cash groans, and doesn’t bother looking up. She knows who it is. She’s cast her eyes to the ground before her, and sees a set of leather boots by her feet. They’re her size.</p><p>One of those boots playfully nudges at her when she doesn’t respond. She finally rolls her head to look up.</p><p>It’s him, but he’s wearing her skin again. Cash sees herself looming from above, covered by heavy shadows and the scent of decaying earth. He’s not laughing this time, he just looks at her with an amused smirk.</p><p>He bends over and reaches into the breast pocket of his duster -- <em> her duster </em>. He takes his time as he deftly fishes out a small silver lighter. It’s hers. </p><p>With a flick of his gloved hand -- <em> her gloved hand </em>--  a spark bursts forth and dances above the cam spring. It flickers orange light against her face, casting erratic shadows against her dark skin. Cash watches it, unmoving.</p><p><em> “You gotta minute, kid?” </em> he asks, both of them knowing full well that she does, in fact, have a minute. He holds the flame in his hand, letting his wrist roll playfully, but never close enough to make contact with the cigarette. Taunting her.</p><p>Cash doesn’t react to his baiting. She’s not in the mood. Her head is pounding, and she feels like she needs to sleep for a few days. She hopes if she just ignores him that he will get bored and vanish again, as he is prone to whims her kind could never really understand.</p><p>He frowns. His gaze darkens, and she’s pulled in by those bestial golden eyes.</p><p><em> “You best mind me, girl. I’ll drag you back down into that hole again myself.” </em> he hisses. She shudders at the image of being pulled back into the earth, letting it swallow her. Cash wonders if he’ll follow through to that threat if she remains quiet, but she’s too afraid to test that theory. She can only avoid him for so long before he gets impatient, she’s come to realize. You can’t keep running from the piper when he comes calling for payment. </p><p>Cash shifts her jaw and raises the elevation of the cigarette in her mouth so that the end of the tobacco rod points upward. He lights it for her, and slips the mechanism back into her breast pocket. Cash feels its familiar weight against her chest as he pats the surface of her duster dotingly. She doesn’t question how he got it, she doesn’t care.</p><p>She’s looking at him now, giving him her full attention. This seems to satiate him, and he’s grinning with her mouth again, all smiles.</p><p>
  <em> “Atta girl. Now, I’ll speak slowly for you, sweetheart. I got a job for you.” </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ebcion is Stressed Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ebcion just got punched in the face by his girlfriend and he's not having a very good time.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content Warnings:<br/>Drinking/alcohol abuse, guns, suicide contemplation, emotional manipulation, mean ghosts</p><p>An unfinished blurb of the aftermath. Rough in quite a few places, this will most likely be edited again later on. I wrote this shortly after the first chapter, forgot to post it here.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The alcohol burns the open wound on his lip. The metallic taste of blood lingers on his swollen gums, despite having washed his mouth out thoroughly with bourbon.</p><p>Ebcion Vlint stands in front of a small rectangular mirror on the second floor of <em> The Olde Queen’s Inn </em>. He’s in the smallish apartment complex above the main dining hall, but the floorboards are thick enough to muffle most of the commotion below. The excited retellings and boisterous gossip has long died down, all spectators would have left by now.</p><p>A sturdy rapping on his door alerts him. He doesn’t pull away from the mirror. Ebcion sets the bottle of bourbon down and shouts over his shoulder.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>The voice that filters through the heavy wooden door belongs to K’het Carter -- a burly human man he’d hired earlier in the month to handle the rowdy patrons who frequented the <em> Queen’s </em>bar. So far he had done a superb job at keeping the place from getting too overrun with stragglers. He was a man of few words, and Ebcion appreciated his sense of propriety.</p><p>“We’re all back. We took care of the crazy broad,” he announces. Ebcion winces and touches the sore spot where his nose had been broken. He tilts his head to the left, chin upward. The injury is still too fresh and swollen to tell, but he guesses it should heal straight. The busted split in his lip might take longer. His right canine is chipped -- it screams in pain every time his tongue brushes against it. He’ll have to hire a healer quick if he doesn’t want it to leave permanent alterations to his face.</p><p>“Okay.” Ebcion finally hollars back. Part of him wants to press for details, but at the moment he’s still fuming.</p><p>After a short period of silence, Ebcion hears the shuffling of K’het’s heavy boots stomp off. He’s alone again.</p><p>He returns to his reflection and runs a hand across his chin -- he needs to shave. His skin is dry. His golden eyes look tired and weighed down by dark circles that pull underneath them. The collar of his shirt is crooked and speckled with his blood.</p><p>“God, I look like shit.'' His voice is raspy and exhausted. Ebcion’s headache has receded since the incident, but his nose and jawline still throb from the assault.</p><p>It had barely been half an hour since they’d dragged her off, spitting and hissing like a wet cat. Ebcion couldn’t recall ever having seen such a feral, hateful expression on her face before.</p><p>Cash…</p><p>Ebcion shudders and pulls away from the mirror. He snatches the half-empty bottle of bourbon and stumbles from the bathroom into the main apartment. His steps are languid and sluggish, the heat of the day doing nothing for his current state. He wanders over to the mattress in the corner. The metal bedsprings groan in protest under his weight as he falls to his back. </p><p>The bed is pressed to the wall facing the main road outside. The windows are all open, letting natural light fill the entire room. Specks of gold dust dance in the rays, he lies on his back and stares at them.</p><p>It takes him a long time to process what has just occurred.</p><p>Ebcion is weighed heavily with his desire to run after her. It hadn’t been long, he could easily round up K’het and his men and retrieve her. Perhaps being roughed up and dumped in the wilderness would have sobered her up. Maybe she would be capable of a conversation.</p><p><em> No </em> , he thinks bitterly. <em> Let her fry in the sun a little longer. She will be back. </em></p><p>Cashe’lie Kyshmet always comes back.</p><p>-----</p><p> </p><p>Ebcion doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he finds himself slowly blinking his eyes into focus as he wakes. The room is now filled with the deep orange glow of sunset. He turns his head and glances out the window without sitting up. From this angle, all he sees is the pinkish-orange blanket of evening sky.</p><p>It takes some effort for him to sit up. His vision dances, and he feels like there is liquid sloshing around in his brain. He shakes it off and pulls himself to his feet.</p><p>Ebcion does not bother checking his face again -- he knows the swelling hasn’t gone down much. He shuffles from his room and down the hallway. As he approaches the top of the stairs, the noises of the bar grow louder, causing his head to pound. He stops at the railing overlooking the main dining hall.</p><p>The room is crowded, which is typical for this time of day. Two drow women are playing guitars in the corner, a cloud of cigarette smoke coats the dirty wooden floorboards. There are tables full of men playing cards and laughing at each other’s anecdotes.</p><p>Ebcion yells at the man at the bottom of the stairs. He doesn’t know his name, but he had hired him on at the same time he’d contracted K’het. The man -- also human, with a dirty mop of black hair, looks up at him with a somewhat startled expression. Ebcion can only imagine how horrid he must look in his disheveled condition, but does nothing to indicate he’s in pain.</p><p>“You -- has Cash come back yet?” Ebcion demands. A few people near the foot of the staircase stop to spectate the exchange. The man looks confused.</p><p>“Who?” he asks blankly.</p><p>Ebcion is fully aware this man wouldn’t know her by name, but somehow the question still offends him.</p><p>“The big gray bitch who punched me!” he barks, his voice loud enough to draw a few more eyes. Most seem to read the tone and go back to their business.</p><p>The man shakes his head.</p><p>“No, Carter dumped her off somewhere outta city lines,” he shrugs.</p><p>“I fucking know that, I told him to do it.” Ebcion’s impatience elicits a peculiar expression from the man, who can only offer a non committed shrug. This only makes Ebcion more annoyed, so he turns and storms back down the hall to his room. His gait is quick, his posture stiff. Ebcion feels the pressure of his anger beginning to boil over. The door slams shut behind him, but it’s doubtful it was heard by anyone over the sounds of the bar patrons below.</p><p>“You gonna play that way?” he mutters. “Really gonna make me wait for you, you dumb drunk asshole?”</p><p>He wanders back to the bed, plopping down to sit at the edge. A light breeze flows in from the open window, cooling the back of his heated neck. It is reminiscent of a light breath, phantom lips press against his heated flesh. Ebcion begins to shakily fumble for the metal cigarette case in his vest pocket -- it’s gone. He curses again and blindly gropes around the bed for it. </p><p>“Where the fuck is my…”</p><p><em> “You left it in the dresser again, darlin’,” </em> Cash drawls sleepily in his ear. He hears her shift in the sheets beside him.</p><p>“Thanks, baby,” Ebcion replies on instinct, his voice a weary sigh. He reaches for the dresser, but freezes, processing.</p><p>A sudden chill runs down his spine. The wind from outside has gone still, his breath sits in his lungs. Ebcion allows himself a moment to regain himself, before shaking his head and pulling open the side table drawer.</p><p>“I’m losing my fuckin’ mind,” he mumbles, fishing out the lighter. It’s where he’d thought he’d heard Cash say it was. But no, she didn’t say it. She isn’t there.</p><p>He pauses as his pinky finger brushes against the edge of something hard and cold resting in the drawer-- his pistol. The metal catches the light from outside in a startling way. Despite having had the gun for years, it suddenly seems like such an ominous, foreign thing to him. </p><p>It forces his gaze. Ebcion’s crimson skin reflects on the metal, which oddly radiates a frigid aura despite how muggy the room feels. The sensation of cold red metal on his skin bites him. It presents some sort of nebulous and unspoken implication that he isn’t interested in addressing.</p><p>Ebcion doesn’t have the emotional energy to dissect the sudden, uncomfortable urges it gives him.</p><p>His hand is steady as he lights the tip of a bent cigarette, but he feels as if his skin were infested with thousands of tiny, burrowing insects. They crawl and gnash within him; the familiar comforting sensation of warm smoke entering his lungs does nothing to curb his anxiety. He longs for the warmth of another presence -- he isn’t built for being alone, and he knows it.</p><p><em> There are girls downstairs </em>, he muses. One of those pretty drow girls, with the long hair and slender fingers. He could just go get one. Cash isn’t here to tell him not to -- She made it pretty clear they were taking a break.</p><p>Ebcion takes another frantic drag from his cigarette and glances out the window. The street is less crowded now, people are starting to head home. He can see the patch of grass that hugs the town’s border in the distance, and the rolling orange hills of the desert beyond. </p><p>There is no sign of Cash.</p><p>She’s not here to calm him down. The last three months of his life had been pure hell, dealing with the aftermath of the cave-in. <em> And </em> he’s had to do it <em> alone </em> . The brunt of his father’s <em> anger </em> on top of the <em> grief </em>he felt -- </p><p>
  <em> Ah, but Cash isn’t dead. So there really is no reason to grieve, is there? </em>
</p><p>Ebcion watches the smoke rise from the tip of his cigarette. The scent of burning tobacco and other herbs makes the tender, raw flesh in his broken nose sting. He winces, but takes another hit before leaning back on the metal bedframe. He hears the cries of a bird from outside.</p><p>As it echoes into nothing, Ebcion wonders if Cash is still close enough to town to hear it. He knows this isn’t likely -- she probably fucked off somewhere to go mope in the desert. Alone. Probably hurt.</p><p>She had looked so rough when he’d seen her, stumbling into town like a disoriented drunkard. She <em> hadn’t </em> been drunk, though -- just delirious, dehydrated, and on the verge of collapse. He had been so happy to see her, so <em> ecstatic </em>...but those eyes. Cash had simply looked through him, like she wasn’t really there. Like she had been nothing more than a ghost passing through.</p><p>Ebcion exhales a long, shaky breath. He turns the burning stick between his fingers, watching the smoke dance, and trying to focus on its impermeable shape. It is a ribbon of dark gray, swirling and curving and dispersing against the high ceiling. It vanishes to nothing, and is instantly replaced by the roll of new smoke.</p><p>Despite the evening bringing in cooler air, the room is uncomfortably warm. Ebcion lazily moves to unbutton his shirt and kicks his legs up to rest on the mattress.</p><p>From below, a loud thud erupts followed by obstreperous shouting. He listens for a while in silence, hearing the muffled arguments eventually melt back into agreeable laughter and rowdy card games. The music picks up again, peppered with the sounds of clinking glass and heavy boots.</p><p>He is so sick of this fucking place.</p><p>Ebcion doesn’t move from the bed for quite some time. He sits in absolute silence through three cigarettes, listening to the sounds of people below and birds outside his window. The orange wash of the air around him fades to umber, and pretty soon evening has fallen. Most people have returned to their homes by now, not wanting to be caught outside when the desert night summons its nocturnal residents.</p><p>Cash still has not come back.</p><p>He glances at the empty space of bed between him and the wall.</p><p>A harsh sting causes him to suddenly retreat from his well of thoughts. He jerks his hand back from the biting pain -- the edge of his cigarette has bitten into his thigh. There is a moon-shaped burn seared through the fabric of slacks now, effectively ruining them.</p><p>He curses harshly, but the sensation causes him to pause.</p><p><em> Wonder how bad it hurt. </em> The thought is carried from elsewhere, but it travels through his mind and bounces around in his skull in a way that is impossible to discharge. <em> Wonder how she managed to live through that. </em></p><p>Cash looked so awful. She looked <em> dead </em> . The cave-in had taken three shafts total, but the one Cash and her crew had been working that afternoon had taken the brunt of the explosion’s weight. The entire shaft -- nearly three miles deep, had completely fallen in on itself. It had cost three days of labor to dig deep enough to find a trace of anyone. What survivors they <em> did </em>manage to excavate were barely alive by then. Most of them would never be able to work again.</p><p>Ebcion is forced to imagine it -- he sees her, the image is hauntingly vivid. Earth crumbling around her, her terrified face as she watches, unable to do anything to stop it. She hadn’t even been able to speak of the event to him during their earlier conversation, but he had seen the horror in her eyes as the question had been posed.</p><p>He bites his lower lip harshly, causing a jolt of paint to rush through him. The split in his lip screams, and he tastes a new wave of blood on his tongue. His chipped tooth digs into it.</p><p>
  <em> “Eb, how could you do this to me?” </em>
</p><p>The hairs on his neck stand up. The wind had carried her words to him, he hears them as clearly as if she had whispered them herself into his ear.</p><p>With a sense of manufactured control, Ebcion crushes the tip of his burning cigarette back to the hole it created on his slacks. It sears through the fabric completely, burning his skin for a long, painful moment. He grits his teeth and holds until it is snuffed out entirely. Ebcion winces, but does not flinch away from the sensation. He allows it to sit a long moment before discarding the butt on the floor.</p><p>He can smell burnt flesh and cotton mix with the lingering scent of tobacco.</p><p>Ebcion’s thigh stings from the fresh burn, he closes his eyes and focuses on the residual waves of pain.</p><p>
  <em> “Honey, you think that hurts? That ain’t nothing…” </em>
</p><p>His eyes shoot open, anxiety jumping directly into his chest and immediately overwhelming him. His eyes dart around, but he is alone.</p><p>He didn’t hear anything. It’s the heat, it’s his nerves.</p><p>With shaking hands, he reaches for the half-empty bottle of bourbon that had been left on his dresser. --<em> Had it been left there?-- </em> He fumbles with the cap, letting it fall to the floor, and takes a long, heavy drink. The liquid sloshes on its way down, filling his empty stomach with an artificial warmness. It lingers on his lips, burning his open cuts.</p><p>Ebcion wipes his mouth on his sleeve. A smear of fresh blood stains it, but he doesn’t care. This shirt is already ruined.</p><p>He finishes the bottle of bourbon quickly. When the contents have been exhausted, he tosses the bottle to the floor. It clatters and unceremoniously slides beneath the bed, vanishing from his view. Ebcion instantly stumbles to his feet and begins the task of fishing out another one from the bottom dresser. He has a decent array to choose from; he selects the bottle which holds the most liquid.</p><p>It’s his father’s expensive whiskey -- a bitter, earthy decoction he’d stolen on his way out of Sugar City. It burns on the way down his throat. It’s a drink meant for sipping slowly around a table with friends, but he guzzles it as if it were a tall glass of sweet iced tea.</p><p>His stomach churns. Ebcion doesn’t move from the floor; he sits with his back leaning against the mattress and his elbow pressed to the open liquor drawer. He turns the bottle over sluggishly and eyes the label. He can’t read the logo, it’s some Dwarvish concoction his father had purchased while out on a business venture with Albion Junior.</p><p>His elder brother had gone with their father on that trip, and had easily landed a job with one of his father’s affiliates. Ebcion remembers when they had returned home, Albion and their father had made enthusiastic plans to drink it together when Albion completed his commission.</p><p>Ebcion grimaces and feels the bitter taste of resentment flood his chest. He stares at the faded illustration of a bull on the label for a long, acrimonious moment before chugging down a third of the acrid liquid within.</p><p>The glass clangs loudly as he slams it down beside him harder than he had intended. His limbs are comfortably heavy. The pain surrounding his mouth and nose has all but vanished.</p><p>His eyes flutter shut with exhaustion, and the image of Cash wandering around in the desert at night strikes him suddenly. He’s filled with the urge to saddle up and go looking for her -- she’s in such a frightful state. Disheveled, angry, hurt...no position to be wandering the desert. She needs his help.</p><p>She needed his help.</p><p>He abandoned her again.</p><p>A wave of grief washes over him, stealing the breath that had been stuck in his throat. It bubbles over into a wave of hiccuping sobs. He’s overwhelmed, his vision blurry with tears, and he realizes he’s been in this state of egregious whimpering for awhile now. His face is flushed and wet.</p><p>
  <em> She was supposed to come back. She was supposed to cool down, and come back. </em>
</p><p>“Cashe’lie...where the fuck are you…”</p><p>His voice is hoarse and cracking. He sounds absolutely pathetic, which provokes  a deep, evitable sense of self loathing. Why is <em> he </em> the one here, sobbing over her, when <em> she </em>is the one who left?</p><p>
  <em> “Baby, I’m out here, why don’t you come get me?” </em>
</p><p>His ears perk. He feels breath on his neck. In his comfortable drunkenness, he thinks nothing of the presence next to him. He tilts his head, and feels the warmth of a large, soft body. Ebcion is absently drawn to the sensations of a strong, feminine hand resting against his thigh. The warmth of her palm pressing against the fresh burn mark causes him to shudder. He can smell her -- the faint scent of earth and summer.</p><p><em> “You could still come find me,” </em> she purrs, voice quiet but distinctive. <em> “Go saddle up a horse, come ride out and save me,” </em></p><p>“You was supposed to come back, you dumb bitch,” Ebcion replies quietly, though the hatred in his voice is all but gone. It isn’t an accusation, it’s a plea. He won’t open his eyes -- he’s afraid if he does, she will be gone.</p><p>A bubbly laugh erupts from his tormentor. His chest is tight, teeth clenched hard enough to awaken the pain in his jaw. She’s <em> laughing </em>at him?</p><p>“Y’think this is fucking funny?” he hisses, sitting up and eyes darting open.</p><p>He had expected to be shouting at an empty room, but no.</p><p>There she is.</p><p>Clear as day.</p><p>He blinks back his surprise, his spine straightens to press against the edge of the bed.</p><p>
  <em> “Hey, Eb,” </em>
</p><p>Cash is sitting next to him, back arched to face him directly. She’s leaning against him, hand still resting on his tender thigh. Her skin feels so soft, so unbearably gentle and warm and pulsing and <em> real </em>.</p><p>His voice is stuck in his chest. He can’t breathe.</p><p>Cash smiles at him. Her lips curve sweetly, sincerely. Her white hair almost seems to glow in the dim light, her eyes flash golden yellow. There is something ethereal about her presence, but between his drunken state and the dim light, something about her unnatural state seems so natural.</p><p>“Ca…”</p><p>Cash slides her hand from his thigh and shifts to sit in front of him, effectively pinning him against the edge of the bed. She’s eye level with him, staring him down intensely. A shiver runs through him, the sweat on the back of his neck causing his skin to feel clammy. Her knees rest on the floor between his legs.They’re incredibly close.</p><p>Cash’s eyes, which are usually a soft buttercup yellow, flash an intense gold. Yet, at the same time, they somehow seem darker, much darker…</p><p><em> “Ah, you’re a little incapacitated, ain’t you, baby?” </em> she whispers. Her drawl is unmistakable. It causes his heartbeat to quicken, a flush darkens his wine-colored skin.</p><p>“Am I dreaming?” he whispers.</p><p>She smiles and slips her hand on top of his. He feels the weight of her palm -- it’s warm, and unmistakably tangible. Her other hand reaches to brush his bangs from his face, the pad of her thumb rests at the base where his horns branch from his skull. She fingers the skin idly in the affectionate way she often did when they were alone.</p><p>
  <em> “You really fucked everything up this time, didn’t you?” </em>
</p><p>Ebcion’s chest tightens, he shakes his head.</p><p>“...a...ain’t meant for no one to get hurt,” he protests, panic beginning to swell up again. </p><p>Cash nods understandably, her palm sliding down to cup his dirty cheek. She rubs her thumb against the edge of his swollen eye, rubbing tears away.</p><p><em> “Yeah, but they did, didn’t they? You killed a lot of people.” </em>she says with an eerily calm tone. It makes his stomach knot up again, unease flooding his guts.</p><p>“I ain’t….I did not…”</p><p><em> “Shh, it’s alright,” </em> her whisper echoes in the back of his mind. It’s as if his own thoughts were against him, manifesting as the ghost of the woman he killed. Her voice is so languid, so soothing, but it bites into him violently.</p><p><em> “You’re gonna miss me so much, baby,” </em> she says, <em> “I’ll be all alone in that hole, rotting, waiting for you to come get me. I’m still there, you know. Because of you,” </em></p><p>“That ain’t...Cash, I just saw you. You were <em> just </em> here. You ain’t dead. You ain’t,”</p><p>Her expression is patronizing. There is pity in her black-and-gold eyes, pity that fuels the searing flames of resentment that are culturing in the pit of his stomach. Ebcion strains his memory for the moments he had with her, hours ago...they come and go, flickers of images and feelings that dance between his fingers just as he reaches to grasp them.</p><p>“You was just here,” he breathes again, a cold sweat clings to his skin. He is trying to convince himself.</p><p>She shakes her head.</p><p>
  <em> “Honey, you’re drunk as a skunk. You don’t know shit from sugar right now.” </em>
</p><p>Ebcion shakes his head, his vision blurs and a sense of dread begins to creep up the nerves of his spine.</p><p>“No. I saw you.”</p><p>
  <em> “You’re seeing me now, too, ain’t ya, Ebbie?” </em>
</p><p>Ebcion’s mouth feels dry, and he is unable to protest. The lurking realization that she might be right is too strong to ignore any longer. His face pales, and he is unable to form any cohesive response. His tongue sits like lead in the bottom of his mouth, pressing painfully against his broken tooth.</p><p>He gently touches his face. <em> When did he break his tooth? </em></p><p>Ebcion’s brow furrows, for he is unable to recollect.</p><p>His attention is arrested again when he feels her hand grip his chin. She gently guides him to face her, and their eyes lock.</p><p>Cash’s eyes are almost entirely black, save for a sliver of gold that encircles her pitch-colored pupils. They are entrancing and feral; they send sharp jolts of fear directly into his chest.</p><p>She continues to speak softly, though her tone has shifted subtly. There is an underlying desperation in her words. A sadness that overwhelms him with unbearable guilt and anguish.</p><p><em> “Baby...I miss you, too. Why don’t you come get me?” </em> she whispers. <em> “You got a ticket, it won’t be hard. Let me help.” </em></p><p>She doesn’t sound like herself.<em> That isn’t how she speaks... </em></p><p>“W...what are you…”</p><p>Her eyes flicker to his right hand, which lies uselessly to his side. He follows her gaze, and freezes when he sees the glint of metal.</p><p>Ebcion’s slender fingers are wrapped steadfastly around the grip of his pistol, barrel lying tauntingly against the wooden floorboards. Ebcion’s digit twitches, the cold alloy hard against the pad of his fingers. The hammer feels jarringly light and inconsequential against his shaking fingertip.</p><p>
  <em> When did I grab the gun out of the dresser? </em>
</p><p>Startled, he drops the pistol and jerks his arm away. The gun slides a few inches from his thigh and clatters against the base of the dresser. His arms flail, frantically attempting to push Cash off of him.</p><p>“G-get the fuck away from me!” he sputters, but his hands only reach air.</p><p>He is alone.</p><p>She did not fade out, she did not vanish in a puff of smoke -- she was simply not there.</p><p>Ebcion’s skin runs cold, and he jerks to his feet, fists clenched tightly and jaw locked. He’s breathing heavily, every muscle in his body tenses violently. His gold eyes dart around the room, but there’s nothing to see.</p><p>He’s completely alone.</p>
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